


The Wrong Guy

by EntreNous



Series: The Wrong Guy [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Banter, First Meetings, M/M, Power Dynamics, Rentboys, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-14
Updated: 2007-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  Xander goes to his friend’s dad’s party, and ends up talking too much.  Though this is third in "The Wrong Guy" series, the events in this story happen first in the timeline (or, how Xander and Angel got to be having such hot and cranky sex).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Guy

“So. You must be Connor’s friend.”

Xander turned around from the painting he’d been pretending to look at. A guy who had to have been the high school team’s starting quarterback twenty plus years ago was watching him with an impassive expression.

“Right, Connor’s friend.” Xander nodded, gesturing with the beer in his hand and then wincing as some of it flew over the lip of the glass. When a group of people nearby loudly greeted someone joining their conversation, he leaned closer to the guy and raised his voice. “That’s why I’m here. Because Connor invited me. Or, you know, at least I was there when he found out his dad wanted him to come down to L.A. for some social fanciness with canapés and free booze. And when Connor said, ‘Ever been in a private jet before?’ well, no way was I going to pass that up.” Xander laughed. “So here I am.” He took a swig of his beer and waited.

Nothing. No reply about how this man came to be at the shindig himself, no half-interested murmur about the very cool private jet Xander had flown here in, not even shrugging and stepping away with a vague excuse because Xander was the babbling-est, most lowbrow dude in the room. Nope, the other man just took a sip of his amber-colored drink and then continued to watch him, like that was Xander’s cue to keep on chattering.

But given that he wasn’t exactly beating away a crowd of people who wanted to hang with him tonight, Xander barreled right ahead. At least it was better than trying to figure out what the splotches of paint on the canvases lining the walls were supposed to be.

“Yeah, so, Connor,” Xander continued, tugging at his sleeves with his free hand. Connor’s blazer was too small, and his wrist stuck out unless he cocked his elbows just right. “We know each other from school. Not the _same_ school, granted, because Connor goes to Stanford. No way were my grades good enough to get me so much as a campus tour of that place. Connor and me, we met at a thing that another guy I know had.”

The man’s head rose slightly and dipped back down. It might have been a nod, though it sure didn’t displace a strand of the guy’s gelled hair. Based on the lack of response, Xander would have judged him bored out of his skull, and hatching an escape plan. Weird, though -- he didn’t seem in a rush to go anywhere else. And that made no sense, because this guy had to be there with someone, a date, a wife, somebody. He was too high-powered -- no way was _his_ expensive suit borrowed -- to be there alone.

Around them, people laughed and murmured while servers moved seamlessly about with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Definitely not Xander’s regular scene; he’d been conscious of that since the moment he’d walked in the door. Hell, he’d been conscious of that the moment that the words “private jet” entered his ear.

“I won’t know anyone,” he had protested that afternoon when Connor had told him about the party. “I’ll stick out like crazy. No doubt some guy who works for your dad’s security detail will drag me out by the scruff of my neck just as soon as I say something stupid.”

“Oh, come on, you should totally come with. Besides, you’ll definitely meet people,” Connor assured him. “Anyone who likes to talk as much as you do is going to meet people.”

Of course, up until now, Xander hadn’t met a single person. He’d circled the room a couple of times, returning to his station in front of the wall with fortifications of cheese and crackers, peered around for Connor (who seemed to have disappeared, no doubt to a much better party) and drunk a few too many beers, which the smiling servers kept replacing too fast. Really, he’d been thinking, he was going to have to come up with a plan to get out of here soon. There was only so much pretending to admire expensive abstract art that he could pull off.

Now that Silent McLurk had ambled up, he had someone to talk to, sure. But usually he talked to people who talked _back_. This man only stared at him, intent and focused, but way too big on the silence. Probably he was used to other people doing all the work entertaining him. Judging by the suit and his self-assured manner, he was rich enough that, if he wanted, he could have other people dance like monkeys for him whenever he snapped his fingers.

Xander really hoped the guy wasn’t going to start snapping his fingers.

But without the obvious air of privilege and confidence, he definitely was handsome enough to have people rushing to amuse him. He had a kind of Steve McQueen thing going on, except with darker hair, and a more intent gaze. Not that Xander liked that kind of thing. Much.

But no matter how much this guy seemed used to this type of scenario, for Xander it was torture. He was terrible at silences; the only thing he could think to do was chatter, making himself nervous while he rattled on and on to fill up the gaps. His friend Willow always said it was worse when he thought the person he was talking to was hot, and he so didn’t need to contemplate why he might be turned on by Mister Mum’s the Word.

“I’m _in_ school, though, don’t get me wrong,” Xander rushed to add when the guy quirked an eyebrow at him. At that the man took another contemplative looking sip of the amber drink, so Xander went on. “I did a year at UC Sunnydale, but then I transferred to San Jose State so I could work full time -- construction -- and take classes part time.”

The man gave him a once-over, a full head to toe sweep, like he was trying to assess something.

Xander gulped more beer and shifted from one foot to the other. “Tell you the truth, I was going to just drop out, once my parents said to forget about them helping me anymore. No way could I afford it on my own. But seems like everyone’s really big on the degree having these days. You need to finish your Associate’s if you want to be a foreman, and there’s no point busting your hump just to make standard union wages the rest of your life.”

The man suddenly glanced away, and Xander laughed nervously. “And you probably didn’t want to know all that, did you?”

The man tilted his head back as he returned his gaze to Xander. “You look like it. Like you’re in construction.”

“Yup. That’s me, construction guy.”

He tried to keep smiling, but he had a feeling his expression had tightened. What the hell did that mean, that he looked like he was in construction? Was the man trying to say that Xander wearing some kind of metaphorical goombah hard hat that made him stick out in this rich crowd? Xander moved the glass to his other hand and then back again, trying his damnedest not to start shredding the paper cocktail napkin that had clung to the bottom. Maybe the guy was just humoring him when he had zero interest in what Xander was saying. Or could be he was some hard working suit who put in so many hours at the office that he didn’t know when to end an incredibly awkward conversation. But there was no reason for Xander to stick around because of that.

“Say, I could use another drink. Want something?” Xander took a step away. Offering to get a drink was a fool-proof way to shake his silent companion. Once he had slipped off in the direction of the bar, it would be easy enough to sneak out of this whole scene.

“There’s better stuff in the penthouse,” the man said after a moment.

Xander pointed to the room and then back at the two of them. They’d come up something like forty floors already just to go to this party, and to him it seemed like a really expensive apartment. “And this is?”

“Not the penthouse.” The man strode off, but then turned back. “You coming?”

Xander gave one last desperate glance towards the entrance of the room. No Connor, no anybody he knew, and short of yelling “Fire!” and evacuating a shrieking crowd so he could skedaddle out in the hubbub, he didn’t see how he could get out of this. “Yeah, okay.”

He followed the guy down a hallway, through a set of doors, and then over to a wall. Xander was about to point out how walls generally weren’t so good for getting other places, but the man pressed a nearly invisible panel, which then popped open to reveal a keypad. After punching in a series of numbers, the wall slid right back, and there was an elevator.

“So,” Xander ventured when they got on and the man had pressed a button. “You must know Connor’s dad pretty well if you know the super secret code to get upstairs.”

The man gave him a skeptical look. “I am Connor’s dad.”

“Oh god.” Xander held the side of the elevator with one hand. “Seriously? How come you didn’t say anything? I’m Xander, Xander Harris.” Xander stuck out the wrong hand, the one that was also damp-palmed from clutching his pint glass, but Connor’s father just shook it silently.

“You have a really nice jet, Mr. O’Shaughnessy,” Xander said desperately as the elevator continued to rise.

“Thanks.” Mr. O’Shaughnessy didn’t glance his way until they came to a stop. “Here we are.”

“And a nice penthouse,” Xander said under his breath when the doors zipped back to their destination. He’d thought the area they’d been in downstairs was swanky, but this was something else. The wall on one side was floor to ceiling windows, with the most amazing view Xander had ever seen. The furniture had a minimal-modern vibe, but even so, he could tell that some of the basic pieces probably cost several times the amount of his trimester tuition.

“You seem like you’re trying to get ahead in life, uh . . . ” Connor’s father observed.

“Xander,” Xander supplied. “Get ahead -- well, with the working, and the school. But, uh, you’re pretty ahead of the game yourself, huh?”

Connor’s dad shrugged, like this was a topic he preferred not to give details on. “I do all right.”

“Come on, no point in playing it down, Mr. O’Shaughnessy,” Xander went on, even as internally he was telling himself to shut up. “I mean, ahead -- what am I saying? You’re all the way up to the finish line.” He raised his glass, sloshing the one inch of beer left in it. “You totally win.”

Connor’s father appeared to consider that, and then went through another doorway. Though he hadn’t been directed to, Xander followed him.

“Do you drink Scotch, Xander?” Mr. O’Shaughnessy asked, glancing his way.

“Scotch. No,” Xander answered, shaking his head to emphasize the point.

“Angel,” the man said before he went over to a bar set up along the wall and poured two glasses of Scotch.

“Excuse me?” Xander had no idea how much Mr. O’Shaughnessy had to drink so far, but he didn’t think they were at the pet name stage yet.

“Angel. That’s my name.”

“Oh, sure, okay.” Xander accepted the glass when Angel walked back and handed it to him. He gulped at the liquid out of reflex, and then choked.

Angel watched him gag -- or, judging by his line of sight, he watched Xander’s throat while he gagged. Xander would have croaked out “A little help, here,” if he could talk. But at least Angel seemed moved enough after a minute of Xander's hacking to go get him a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Xander rasped after he was breathing normally. “That’s strong stuff.”

Angel took a step closer to him. “Do you have a girlfriend, Xander?”

“Kind of between girlfriends right now,” Xander answered. He’d been between them since leaving high school and figuring out that he liked guys instead of girls, but there was no point in volunteering that info.

“And you don’t get along with your family,” Angel went on.

Xander furrowed his brow at that. Had he said something about that earlier? Possibly -- he’d been rambling like crazy when they had been downstairs. “Not so much, but --”

Angel moved closer. “So Sunnydale, you’re in no rush to get back there. But San Jose, that’s where you wanted to go more than any place else?”

Xander drank the rest of the water quickly, and set the glass down on a table nearby. Maybe the rush of cold to his head would help him figure out what was going on. “Well, more that it was one of the only programs I got into. And it’s cheap, so that’s a bonus.”

Angel studied him. “You’re not used to the finer things, I can tell.”

“Gee, you could?” Xander asked.

After regarding him for an uncomfortable moment, Angel spoke again. “Would you say you’re happy?”

Xander gaped at that. “Happy? That’s not really . . . I don’t know.” Maybe this was the way most people normally talked to their kid’s friends, but it was making him feel a little freaked out. And the more he thought about it, Angel O’Shaughnessy didn’t seem so concerned about the fact that Xander was his son’s friend. He’d walked out on his own party to take Xander upstairs, and -- what, grill him about his hopes and dreams? Why the hell would a powerful guy like this, handsome, rich, the CEO of some kind of high powered law firm, want to talk to someone like Xander Harris for more than two seconds?

“You’re searching for something. Something better,” Angel noted.

Xander had to laugh at that one. “Wow, you got me there. Sure, I’m searching for something better. Isn’t everybody?”

Angel took two more steps closer. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, and then reached out his hand like he was pitching a softball, and palmed Xander’s crotch.

“Hey!” Xander jumped back, but that only backed him up against the wall, and Angel moved right after him.

“Listen, you can’t just --” Xander sputtered. He had no idea when they’d taken a sharp turn from lame chatter to him getting felt up, or why Mr. O’Shaughnessy had gotten the wrong idea from him, but no way was he looking to hook up with his friend’s dad. Not because -- oh god -- the guy wasn’t gorgeous, but with the operative description still being “friend’s dad”, it didn’t seem like a hot idea.

“I can’t?” Angel asked him. He kept his hand right where it was, but his eyes searched Xander’s face.

“No. It’s -- you can’t -- no,” Xander answered lamely. And -- damn it -- even though Xander’s heart was racing, somehow all the normal signals had gotten mixed up on the way to his brain. Instead of reacting with a whole fight or flight impulse, his stupid body had apparently decided it was go time, and he was starting to get hard under Angel’s touch.

“Nice,” Angel said in a low voice. He stroked Xander for a moment through the fabric of his trousers, and then slid both hands around to cup and squeeze Xander’s ass. “ _Very_ nice.” The move had brought him flush against Xander’s body, and now he pushed forward a little, pressing his hard on against Xander.

As soon as he could get his mouth to work, Xander blurted, “Let me just say, it’s been a swell party, but I really have to get out of here,” That was the cue for him to do _something_ : knee Angel in the crotch, bolt in the direction of the elevator, go back to that whole yelling “Fire!” plan.

But for some reason he stayed splayed against the wall. Okay, fine, he pushed his hips back a little.

Angel didn’t bother answering, just ran his hands up and down Xander’s sides in an appraising fashion.

Xander took a shaky breath. He could probably get his feet to move if he could just get enough oxygen to his addled brain -- which was insisting on noticing details like the strong set of Angel’s jaw, how good he smelled, and the . . . oh god . . . hardness of his body all over -- instead of helping him split.

He gave it one last try. “Okay, so obviously the entry price to these parties is getting groped by the host, but since I didn’t get the engraved version of the invitation, you can’t blame me for not knowing. Anyway, I’ll just be going, now, so--”

“Quiet,” Angel murmured. He pressed his body forward again, and Xander let out a small moan at the warmth soaking through the fine fabric of Angel’s suit. He tilted his head back to meet Angel's eyes.

“I’d like to make you an offer, Xander,” Angel said. His lips hovered less than a breath away from Xander’s mouth.

Xander tried not to whimper. “An offer?” he whispered.

Angel nodded. "Three grand a month. We’ll give it a three-month trial period, of course.”

Xander’s jaw dropped. This definitely took the prize as the most awkward way a guy had ever cruised him -- as crazy good looking as Mr. O’Shaugnessey was, he didn’t seem like he got out much if he thought he should start this kind of thing off by just grabbing someone’s prick or by offering up ready cash. “What the -- three grand a month? You’re not trying to say you want to -- are you?”

“Fine,” Angel said, as though Xander was driving a hard bargain. “Three a month for the first _three_ months, and if it works out, four a month after that.” When Xander opened his mouth again, Angel held up his hand, like he was trying to forestall further objections, and then placed his palm on the wall next to Xander’s head. “And I pay tuition for the degree, cover all your fees and expenses for school. Of course, you’ll have to transfer to L.A. But you’ll be able to save up. You won’t be paying any rent, your degree is covered, and then there’s the monthly return.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Xander said. “Hang on just a second. Let’s start over.” His head was spinning, and the only thing he might be able to reach out and hold onto was Angel.

For the first time since he’d come up to Xander, Angel smiled. “You want me to start over?” He slipped his hand back down to Xander’s groin.

Xander batted it away impatiently. “No, not with that, with -- cut that out, all right? Maybe I didn’t say this part up front, but just so there’s no misunderstanding: I came to town just for the night with a friend, not because I wanted to become some bored rich guy’s . . . I don’t know, _rent puppy_. Thanks for the offer and -- stop that! -- but I’ve got to tell you, you’re propositioning the wrong guy.”

Angel shook his head. “If I wanted that kind of thing, I’d just make a few calls, have my people set it up.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to ignore the insanely weird part about how you have people who would set you up with a boy toy, and say one more time, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

The other man sighed. “Like I said, a rent boy, that’s not what I want.”

“You know, I’m thinking you’re not clear on the concept, what with the whole offering to pay for my school and give me three grand for . . . for . . . but what the hell, I’ll bite,” Xander exclaimed. “What the fuck do you want, exactly?”

Angel fixed his dark brown eyes on Xander’s. Then he cupped Xander’s jaw in both hands, sliding his fingers to thread through Xander’s hair. “I want this,” he whispered.

When their lips met, Xander thumped Angel on the chest with his fist. But as soon as Angel really began to kiss him, it was game over. For a straight-faced, freakishly unemotional brick house of a guy, Angel kissed like he was born to do it -- it was a white sanded beach at sunset kiss, a dark corner of the dance floor kiss, a kiss that started off the best kind of make-up sex -- all wrapped up into one warm, wet package.

So Xander’s fists unfurled and he grasped Angel’s shoulders like his hands belonged there.

"We're agreed, then," Angel murmured as he pulled back. "Three grand a month to start."

Xander blinked rapidly. He licked his lips, and swallowed as Angel's eyes followed that motion. "Um. Three?” Never mind that Angel was his friend’s dad, was a powerful guy who shouldn’t want to look Xander’s way -- all Xander could think about now were Angel’s lips, his extremely talented tongue, and yeah, how his body might look once those expensive threads were off it. Still, he was agreeing to something, and the details were probably important. “You said -- wait -- For --"

"Okay, four to start," Angel agreed. This time he smiled widely, especially as he started tugging Xander after him. “And you said I had the wrong guy.”


End file.
